White Night

Chapter 29

A single headlight stared through the smoke and dust like an angry beast. The other was blinded, the metal around it scarred and twisted. People ran, a woman screamed, but the one in his arms was silent.

The weight of her body on his chest made it hard to breathe, but he still froze. Moving meant discovering more...was she alive? In this moment, everything could still be okay.

Strange voices echoed. "You okay, ma'am?" "Kid, can you hear me?" Then, "Shit, I think she's dead!" A shadow clawed to reach them, but another shape pushed it back. Arms started pulling her away from him, but he fought to hold on.

Michael sat up gasping for breath, his body cold but slick with sweat. Sleep was worse than being awake. The nightmares that faded years ago now rushed back, drowning him in a riptide of trauma and panic.

The morning sun warmed the side of his face as he rubbed his eyes, then fumbled for his cell phone, knocking it off the nightstand. No point retrieving it; he couldn't turn it on anyway in case the pig was tracking it.

His hand felt like he was wearing a thick hide glove, barely any feeling left in it, and yet the whole area still hurt like a kick to the nuts. He'd changed the dressing on his shoulder earlier, and it looked even worse than before. The wound was leaking a mixture of blood and clear fluid and it was hot as hell. He'd poured disinfectant on it, then collapsed to the floor as the pain stung him like a swarm of wasps, knocking the breath out of him and watering his eyes. Tired and finally with a bearable amount of pain, he wanted to lay here for hours, but he had to move. The rest of his supplies were in the truck, including an old map that would be enough to get him to the border. He'd go tonight after dark.

He stood up and his head spun and stars pricked his eyes. Clutching the nightstand, he waited for the room to stop swirling. After tottering forward a few steps until his legs caught up with his body, he checked out his appearance in the bathroom. A pale, drawn version of him stared back from the mirror. He ran warm water into the sink, splashing it over his face and running it through his hair in an attempt to tame the tufted mess. Dark stubble had spread across his chin, but shaving was the least of his worries. If anything, it would make him less recognizable. He had to get moving. There were things he needed to get done today: change his clothes, dye his hair, buy more clean pads for his shoulder, and swap out his truck. It had to be tonight. He couldn't wait any longer. Tomorrow he'd be expected back at work and he couldn't fake normal anymore.

The hairs on the back of his neck lifted as he left the safety of the motel room and stepped into the hallway. Anyone could be watching, waiting for him to walk into the next bullet.

Just one more day, Michael. Get through today and tonight you're gone.

The young clerk smiled at him as he passed the front desk and he forced a smile back. She was too nice to be in a place like this. Standing there in her polyester uniform with an innocence and enthusiasm she would soon lose, she didn't fit in this place. Had Hansen hired her to watch him?

You're losing it, Michael.

The sun outside made him squint, blinking furiously until his eyes adjusted to the light. Cold and clear, it was a typical winter day in the city. He wouldn't exactly be going to a warmer climate in Quebec, but at least he could rest and rebuild. Driving for seven hours was going to suck, every cruiser sending his heart into his mouth, but there were no choices left. He couldn't stay here.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. His last day in America.

As he walked to his truck, he noticed a young woman standing outside a car looking around her nervously. Wearing leggings and a halter top, she wasn't exactly dressed for the weather, but she was hardly a threat to him and she wasn't his problem.